Almost three weeks ago, on Aug. 2, my dad passed away suddenly from a heart attack. He was only 62. It feels as though my foundation has been wiped out from under me.
My dad, Brad Morley, had an elite sense of humor and saw life as a series of hilarious events. He told the best stories of his childhood growing up in Stockton, California, with four brothers and two sisters. One of the last times we were all together, he regaled us with a tale of how he and his friends built a fort with a working fireplace in the middle of a very dry, very flammable field. (Thankfully, no wildfires ensued.) He loved making his grandkids laugh, and loved letting them make him laugh with their made-up, punchline-free jokes.
My dad made every situation more fun. When I was about 10 years old, deep in my American Girl doll obsession, he took me and a couple of friends to an American Girl tea party. He was the only man there. During a fiddle performance, which was part of the much-too-long program, my dad started clapping along. I was mortified and motioned for him to stop, which made him clap more enthusiastically and even whistle. I wanted to crawl under the table. But soon, the rest of the room was clapping and smiling and not on the verge of bored tears as everyone had been moments prior…